


How Far We've Come

by DreamingStarkly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean being a dick, Destiel Day actually, Destiel Week, Gen, Happy Anniversary!, M/M, Training, Wrestling, also just a little hint of, and, but also learning from his mistakes, reflections, yay!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingStarkly/pseuds/DreamingStarkly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Impala rattled twofold as Castiel jumped out and slammed the door behind him and Sam copying him, only with a muttered “asshole” directed at the driver. Dean allowed a passing thought as to the abuse his car has endured throughout the years by hissy fits alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Far We've Come

 

 

([x](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UafFfjcfR1E))

_I believe the world is burning to the ground_

_Oh well I guess we're gonna find out_

_Let's see how far we've come_

The Impala rattled twofold as Castiel jumped out and slammed the door behind him and Sam copying him, only with a muttered “asshole” directed at the driver. Dean allowed a passing thought as to the abuse his car has endured throughout the years by hissy fits alone.

And the day had begun with such a promising morning. Cas finally tolerated Dean’s more ambitious attempts at coaxing the newly-formed-human out of his shell. The lack of fire in those blue eyes—that angelic spark that Dean knew was still cookin’ under mortal skin—manifested in Dean as a knot in his gut for nearly a week after Cas’s return. The guy hadn’t even told them what he’d gone through to get back to the Winchesters, and that was just another notch in Dean’s stress-meter. From the bits and pieces Dean could glean from Cas’s first fully human weeks on Earth, there had been at least one nasty fight where Cas got his ass handed to him by fallen angels out for blood. 

So he was _damn_ well pleased with himself when he managed to get Cas to just _react_ and to beat his ass to the mat in the bunker’s makeshift gym. 

“See,” he’d teased, referencing Cas’s former excuse that he no longer had the angelic upper-hand. “You don’t need fairy dust to win a fight.” Cas had huffed something about said angels, but the ever-present reticence had appeared to have dissipated and it warmed Dean. And if that warmth spread further south than it should have, Dean had decided that the _want_ was worth enduring with Cas back home. Cas had helped him up, they cleaned up, and met up with Sam for the latest news of their Brave New World.   

Dean resisted the urge to bang his forehead on the steering wheel. Sure, he _could_ blame lack of sleep and stress. But after five years and at least three apocalypses (apocalypsi? apocalypsen?) under his belt, he damn sure was running out of excuses. Maybe the Men of Letters had a cure for foot-in-mouth curse lying around somewhere. 

He fucking knew better than to poke at old wounds at this point, but maybe age and domestication was making him reflective. He should have been up clinking beers with Ash years ago, when old grudges and pains would have been lost to the eons of Heaven. Or he should be poking at new wounds in Hell, if he wanted to be truly honest with himself.

He just wasn’t built to make things last. To make the time to make things heal properly. Now that he could see it, he could see the possibility of _time_ …

Dean did, in fact, thump his forehead against the steering wheel. This all could have been avoided if things clicked sooner. The deal with Crowley. Naomi. Metatron. He was always so gung-ho with thinking Cas thought on a human (read: Dean’s) level, that when Cas was actually human and didn’t change the wacko circumventing logics, Dean was thrown for a loop.

It started when Cas wouldn’t stop suggesting a revisit to Kevin’s hideout and the angel tablet. Dean thought it was a bad idea, since Metatron had written it in the first place and who knows what other chaos would follow if they tried to use any other spells from the damn thing? Sam argued something about it being God’s Word, which Dean scoffed at. Castiel, for some insane reason, got all pissy when Dean railed on his Heavenly Father. And yeah, maybe Dean was just blowing off steam by blaming all of their misfortune on an absent deity. But Castiel decided then that it was a personal rather than theological debate and it all went downhill from there.

It ended when Dean parked the car outside of the bunker and snapped, “Get your head outta the clouds and back on Earth, will ya?”

Castiel had stared at him long and hard, and had replied in that low and dangerous way of his. “Maybe you haven’t noticed. I am.” And shook the Impala behind him.

The pre-set equations, drifting back five years, finally clicked.

Cas was an angel. Cas is now human. Cas has always been Cas. And Dean was a complete moron.

After about another hour of sulking in his car Dean managed to buck up, grab a couple of apology beers, and look for Cas. He found him sitting on the roof of the bunker. A natural hiding place for the guy, now that Dean thought about it. Castiel didn’t move as Dean dropped down to sit beside him, legs dangling over the edge.

“Yanno I didn’t realize. It’s been five years. Nearly to the day.” He squinted up at the clear blue Kansas sky. It had nothing compared to the fire in Cas’s.

Castiel frowned, as if trying to formulate the human years by his calculations. “Since I pulled you out of hell?”

“Since I met your face.” Dean smirked. Cas didn’t respond, and Dean sighed. He held out one of the beers. “Listen. I, uh, I want to know your side.”

After a moment's hesitation, Cas's hand reached out and carefully took the bottle. “My side of what?”

Dean shrugged. “Everything. As much as you can remember.”

Cas looked suspicious. “Why?”

Dean fumbled with the bottle cap, muttering a curse when it scraped the one square inch of skin on his palm not thickened with calluses. Castiel was patient, though, and waited until Dean took a long swallow to nudge him with his elbow as a prompt. It was a shockingly gentle gesture, one Dean didn’t even know Cas could execute. He cleared his throat.

“It wasn’t fair,” he finally admitted. “Any of it. I never gave you the time to explain anything without pointing a gun to your head.” Dean fidgeted with his bottle and briefly contemplated switching to something stronger. “So. This is me. Asking about your life. Choices. If you want.”

“You know my choices,” Castiel responded quietly.

“Not all of them,” Dean refuted. “And not why.” Cas didn’t appear convinced. “Call this a practice in listening.”

“Sam will be thrilled.”

Dean chuckled.

Cas inhaled deeply and thoughtfully. “Very well. But before I begin, there is something you should know.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, angling his body slightly in preparation. It wasn’t like he didn’t know some of the more gruesome parts.  

Cas moved, too, so that their knees brushed and their shoulders were nearly touching.

“After everything. Everything you’re about to know,” he said, staring steadily at Dean. “I’m glad to be here. I’ve always been glad to be here.”

No matter how much he would deny it, Dean had wished to hear those words. Thought he’d never hear them, but he had wished them. Now he would just have to learn to believe them. That’s why he was here, wasn’t it?

So he just nodded—accepting it—and listened to the story of the angel of Thursday who fell in many ways.

 

 

_Let’s see how far we’ve come_

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i0_4e7UOAVQ


End file.
